


There's No German Word For This, But If There Was, It Would Smell

by Baibaba



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baibaba/pseuds/Baibaba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick solves the case because it's who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No German Word For This, But If There Was, It Would Smell

 

It’s a stench.

Nick gratefully takes the mask from one of the CSI guys, a newbie whose eyes are red rimmed , probably from vomiting. Nick is tempted to pat the man on the back because he remembers his first few cases where the bodies were beyond mangled and having to look at what was left had made his stomach turn inside out all over his squad car. It’s nothing new and it definitely won’t be the last crime scene to make the police question the sanity of humanity.

Humanity, which has all too suddenly become diverse and nightmarish, that has Nick wondering if  maybe he hasn’t lost a few nuts and bolts along the way.

The past few months he has been thinking he was on the fast track to the loony bin. Suddenly he’ll wake up in cold sweat and just know that the whole Grimm mess is simply due to some crossed wiring in his brain triggered by his aunt’s cancer and one too many late nights at the station. Juliette will be there to comfort him. Her hand will be soft on his chest and her voice will be sweet.

This is something he tells himself. It doesn’t make anything better. Frankly, it’s dumb.

Hank is waiting on the steps to the front porch. He looks a little green along the edges and his eyes are watering. The smell is acidic and Nick knows he’ll need a marathon of showers after this. His clothes will have to be burned. This is why he buys in bulk.

Nick covers his own mouth and nose. The mask does little. Nick thinks this is merely supposed to play the role of a placebo.

Hank’s voice is muffled by the blue cotton blend, but Nick has always been fluent in drunk-Hank, so he manages to piece together what he says.

“I hope you didn’t eat breakfast.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” He had the biggest bowl possible of cereal this morning, chewing quietly to not wake Juliette who had slept on the sofa. “What the hell is that?”

Hank shakes his head and points inside. The front door is wide open. There are three other men inside. Usually there is a team swarming and taking photos and samples.

“Airing the place out?” Nick says.

Hank touches the place where his nose is hidden. “Should’ve been here twenty minutes ago. Never seen a group of grown men and women puke in unison. Would have been funny if it wasn’t for what’s inside.”

Nick nods and spots a box of latex gloves sitting on the railing of the porch. He snaps on the gloves and prepares himself for the onslaught of smell and gore that awaits him.

Hank slaps him on the shoulder. “Good luck. Try not to puke on what’s left of the bodies.”

“Bodies?”

“From what we can tell, husband and wife.”

“Who found them?” He hopes whoever did would get therapy.

“No one. Neighbor complained about the stench. Called the police. Sergeant Reynolds over there was the first.” Hank points to a woman outside the police tape. She looks pale. Another officer has a hand on her shoulder.

“Shit.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if she took a leave after this. Hell, I’m thinking about it. Hawaii sounds like Heaven right now.”

“That bad, huh?”

“If it smells this bad out here, just imagine what it’s like inside.”

Nick did, and it was an awful thing to picture.

“I’m serious though. Don’t go throwin’ up all over the crime scene. You wouldn’t be the first and it’s already contaminated enough.”

The lump in his throat, a lump made of Fruity Pebbles, lurches forward. Nick swallows. And he would take a deep breath to ready himself, but the air smells like a morgue in the summer without air conditioning.

Inside the stench is worse. There is blood on the walls and the ceiling and the floor. There are clumps of something scattered throughout the house. It’s skin and human insides, but Nick would rather think in the abstract because he has barely stepped a foot inside and he knows it’s just going to get gorier and more horrific.

He’s right.

 

-

 

“So.” Hank says when Nick finally stumbles out of the little blue bungalow.

“Yeah.” Nick says.

For once, neither of them has anything witty to say to lighten the mood.

 

-

 

Juliette has picked up a new habit of sleeping on the sofa a few times a week, on random days from what Nick can tell. He doesn’t ask her ‘why’ even though it’s a question that is bouncing in his head every time he sees her or sits down in the living room and sees the blankets and throw pillow she used. If he asked, she would counter and ask him why he’s been acting strangely. Why his work hours have suddenly gone from double-shifts to practically living at the station some weeks.

He can’t explain to her that being a Grimm is like a shitty second job with no health care and no pay, but he kind of has to do it because if he doesn’t, then no one else will. And it sounds more glamorous in his head, almost like being a superhero. Except he doesn’t get any amazing powers, just the villains out for his blood.

So he doesn’t poke at Juliette’s secret because his own are a little too much even for himself. There are parts he doesn’t understand and moments where he thinks insanity would be better.

He talked to the blue bungalow’s neighbors. An old woman who wouldn’t look at Hank and thought the victim’s were ‘sodomites’ and quite happy they would no longer be bringing their sin so close to her. A family of four who saw nothing except for the little boy who is twelve. Kevin had been looking at the stars through his telescope when he had seen a group of people, three men and a woman, go into the house the night before. It was the only lead.

Nick stripped in his car, down to his boxers, as he drove home to shower. A particularly long red light had made getting his pants off a bit easier. The car next to him had a teenage boy and Nick had caught him looking a little too long. He had flashed a grin and his badge. The boy had merely waved. Kids never respected cops.

His clothes are in the back seat. He really will have to burn them in the backyard soon to erase them from existance. The smell is a memory scarred into his brain and his nostrils, despite their unwillingness, are drenched in it.

Juliette is home, sitting at the kitchen table, her watch in pieces. She laughs when she sees him in only his striped boxer-briefs.

“Should I be concerned?” She pauses, and Nick is bombarded by the image of Monroe as she sniffs the air.

“That—That is an awful smell. Did you chase someone into the sewers?” Juliette’s tongue is sticking out in disgust. Nick doesn’t really blame her. He would do it too, but then he’d taste it.

“You really do not want to know. Trust me. I’m just gonna go bleach my skin.”

“That sounds perfectly safe.” She smiles and grabs her purse. “I’ll be at the vet’s.”

She stops and starts to say something. She crosses the kitchen.

“I’d kiss you, but, well. You know.”

Nick nods, but he manages to quickly peck her cheek anyways. He listens to her make gagging noises as he runs up the stairs and strips his final layer away. He ends up showering in his socks and using his entire bottle of body wash and half of Juliette’s floral conditioner.

For the first time in months, he feels like their relationship might have a chance.

 

-

 

The watch is Juliette’s grandmother’s. Small and gold, it’s a necklace rather than a wristwatch. Nick really has no idea what kind of watch it is, he’s never been very interested in the technology. From Juliette’s stories, it has had a long and adventure filled life. It survived both world wars, being stolen three times, set on fire, dropped in a lake twice, and sold accidentally by her father, who had managed to get it back by trading his Buick Regale for it. Still, it had yet to stop working for more than hundred years.

Until a week ago.

Dressed in new clothes and the remnants of what Nick will forever call the ‘death stench on acid’, he gathers the pieces on the table and places them into a zip-lock bag and into his coat pocket. Juliette had thought she’d be able to fix it. When she couldn’t she had a bizarre idea that he would be able to magically put it together and make it work again.

He pats his pocket, checking that he has his keys and he has his bag full of broken watch, and heads out to find some murderers. He’ll bring the watch by Monroe’s after work. Maybe he’ll bring some beer to get a discount.

 

-

 

 The wife and husband were normal. So normal that they were passed the concept of ordinary and firmly planted in the ground of boring. They had no enemies. They had no living relatives.

The husband worked as a chemical engineer for a vitamin company. His boss had been shocked when he was told about his death. They had not been close though, they had been strictly coworkers and the victim’s boss had no idea who would want to hurt the husband.

The wife was a kindergarten teacher. The other teachers didn’t really speak to her outside of school. The parents only knew her professionally.

The couple didn’t have any friends. No photos of anyone other than the two of them. Looking through their house, Nick hadn’t found a single clue to another person who could be in their lives.

They really only had each other.

 

-

 

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Excuse me?” Nick says, looking behind him to be sure that Monroe is in fact talking to him. It’s past ten o’clock at night and the street is empty.

The door is cracked open and Monroe is peering through.

“You stink.”

Nick sniffed himself, he felt silly. He smelled clean. Actually, he smelled like flowers.

“But I showered.”

“You smell like rotten, dead human. I can’t let you in, stinking up my place like that. Too much like the old days.”

Nick has always been curious by what Monroe did in his past. If he should arrest him or not. His fingerprints never did show up in the system.

“Would Wolfs bane help?” He had some in Marie’s trailer. It would be a simple thing to drive there and pick some up.

But Monroe wasn’t having it. His eyes flashed red.

“This is—this is way too strong. Maybe in a few days you can use it, but there is no way in the seven Hells you are coming in here.” He started to close the door, but Nick stuck his hand out, stopping him.

“I brought beer?” He showed Monroe the cardboard box of micro-brews. He stopped at a Ma & Pop shop a few streets over, remembering that they sold specialty brands. For some reason Monroe hated the mainstream beer and only stocked the brands that cost double and had to be ordered online.

Nick had once called him a ‘hipster’. Monroe had then listed off qualities that made him an awful Grimm. He had in no way won that argument and had left flipping the Blutbad the bird.

This seemed to make Monroe hesitate. He licks his lips and Nick catches himself watching the very soft looking tongue trace his lips. He shouldn’t be paying so close attention to that. Clearing his throat, Nick grins and is about to push the door open when Monroe shoves him backwards with one large hand and slams the front door closed.

“I’ll see you in a few days, Nick!” He shouts.

Monroe turns away and Nick would love to point out to his friend that he can still clearly see him. He slams his fist against the stained glass, over the bleary silhouette of Monroe.

“But I have a watch for you to fix!”

“Leave it on the doorstep and I’ll send you a memo!”

 

-

 

Juliette is asleep on the sofa when Nick finally makes it home.

That night he dreams of mangled bodies. Of a woman screaming and a man crying. Them being ripped apart by psychopaths. The blood is thick and doesn’t come off his hands. Their bodies don’t dissolve. They are bitten and chewed, cooked on a frying pan, salted and peppered.

He wakes up alone in bed. The clock is glaring at him, telling him it’s hardly three in the morning and he should go back to sleep. He needs to have energy to track down these monsters.

And maybe they are monsters, not just humanity at its worst. He stumbles into the shower and scrubs until his skin turns an angry pink.

 

-

 

Nick before becoming a Grimm, never believed in monsters. Not the supernatural kind. He knew there were people who crossed the line from being human beings to being monsters, but they were still, in only the physical sense, people. He didn’t believe in werewolves or vampires. He didn’t believe in ghosts or specters or little energy balls that appeared only in grainy photographs. He didn’t even believe in a God. If he couldn’t see it, if there was no proof, he didn’t believe in it.

When Aunt Marie died, everything changed. He saw things, people who weren’t really people. Beings that crossed the line between animals and humans. Now there was a whole new world that knew everything about who he suddenly was, yet the knowledge was anything but mutual.

At the beginning he had genuinely thought he was losing his mind. Nick doesn’t know his family history, maybe it was hereditary. Then he’d met Monroe and suddenly his world didn’t feel like it was crumbling.

Aunt Marie’s trailer has quickly become a second home. The nights when he tells Juliette he had been working a double shift or he had been following a lead, he had either been in the trailer or at Monroe’s. He is ashamed to admit that he’s getting better at lying. He knows he won’t stop lying though. His two worlds can’t be connected, no matter how much it would help for people to know who he is.

So he leaves a note for Juliette, saying he went to work early.

He goes to the trailer and looks through the books. In all his life he’s never been much of a reader. As a kid, when his parents just died and he was given to an aunt he hardly knew, he had spent most of his time outside away from her with other kids. He didn’t read because he didn’t want to sit still. He wanted to run and poke things with a stick.

He did have one favorite book that he read again and again, even when he got too old for it to be acceptable: _Oh The Places You’ll Go_ by Dr. Seuss. He had drawn his own character on each page.

Nick had lost the book when he turned eighteen and had moved out of Aunt Marie’s house.

Now, he goes through each book with care, turning the pages gently, and reading with a detective’s eye. He’s looking for a monster that rips apart it’s victims and eats them.

The answer is pretty obvious, even before he cracks open the ancient books.

The phone says it’s six o’clock. Monroe would be awake, walking around his kitchen in his boxers, making a cup of Norwegian coffee before starting his Pilates.

He calls three times before Monroe answers.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Monroe says, completely skipping over a ‘good morning’ or a ‘hello’. Nick follows suit.

“I know, I know. You have your little ‘exercise regime’.” Nick makes air quotes to himself, but he knows Monroe can hear them from the slightly irritated huff on the other end of the phone. He smiles to himself.

“I just have a question for you.”

“Is it, do I like 50 year old scotch or a brand new Plasma more? Because if it’s not that, I gotta tell ya Nick, I might just go all Blutbad on your ass.”

“I really think you’re misjudging how big a detective’s salary is, but, no—“ Monroe cuts him off.

“—Nick, I am two seconds away from hanging up on you. I have a strict routine—“

“—Okay, okay.” Nick sighs and pinches his nose. He didn’t have any breakfast, which meant the headache that was forming would only get worse. After taking his shower and rubbing his skin raw in an attempt to make himself less vile to Monroe, he had skipped out on eating and had crept out the house so as not to wake Juliette.

“Have you heard anything about some Blutbaden coming into town?”

There’s a short silence. Nick listens to Monroe’s breathing. It’s comforting. He quickly thinks of Juliette.

“ _Plural_?”

Nick nods. “There’s a witness who says he saw a group of people going into the crime scene. The house was…” There are many adjectives he could use, but there isn’t any word that could really sum up the horror that was housed in the blue bungalow.

“I get it. Blood everywhere? Little bits of human on the ground?” And the ceiling. Nick will never forget the sight of skin dangling from the ceiling fan set on low.

Nick tells him that there were pieces of human spread throughout the house. Monroe sounds nervous when he says

“Sounds like a pack.”

“Isn’t that a bad thing?”

“You have no idea, man.”

 

-

 

The forensics finally comes back. There are numerous fingerprints that don’t belong to the couple. The killers hadn’t been careful when they killed them. They were brazen and it was clear to Nick now that the killers just didn’t give a shit rather than the idea of them mocking the police. Monroe had said that when Blutbad get hungry, they don’t care so much about getting caught as getting a good meal. And when they were in packs, the carnage can get extreme.

It’s hard for Nick to think that Monroe could be associated to what he saw. The sheer amount of violence in that house was truly bone shaking. For the most part, Monroe is a kind person. He has a bonsai tree.

But there was the time he ripped a hitman’s arm off. It was the first time Nick had overlooked a crime, a truly mortifying crime, for his Grimm counterpart. It was definitely his first step into accepting his life as a Grimm.

There were clear handprints and fingerprints made in blood on the counters and walls. But there are no matches in the system. The bit of DNA that was lifted had no matches either. They’re at a stand still.

Hank, and many of the other officers who had had the pleasure of being at the crime scene, had become vegetarian. For the time being at least. He is eating a bag of Skittles from the vending machine down stairs.

Nick’s own stomach growls. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday night.

“I can’t even look at a hamburger now.” Hank says.

Nick nods.

 

-

 

For the first time in months, Nick's shift ends on time. He has plans to take Juliette out for a nice dinner at a restaurant that has tablecloths and wine that comes from a bottle.

It’s a mistake, he knows, to stop at Monroe’s first. But time is ticking away and he and Hank are getting nowhere fast with this case. The suspects are just an abstract idea from an eyewitness who’s twelve. He had stopped at the trailer before pulling up outside of Monroe’s place.

He rubs the Wolfs bane on his skin, knowing the smell isn’t in his clothes. He stows it away in his jacket pocket. Just in case.

He knocks three times on the door. Monroe peers out through the stain glass window. His beard is newly trimmed and his hair is still wet from a shower. Although, Nick wouldn’t be surprised if Monroe takes baths, probably with bubbles and scented soap.

He opens the door and without any warning grabs Nick by the jacket pulling him forward and sniffing his hair. They’ve never been this close and for a moment Nick forgets why he’s there. The Blutbad is warm and his hand is grazing Nick’s bare chest. He wonders if the tingle is one sided or not. Monroe doesn’t show any sign that it is though. If Nick moved his head only slightly to the right, he could rub his cheek alongside his beard.

Nick, of course, doesn’t because he isn’t like _that_.

“You don’t smell…” Monroe says letting him go.

“Disgusting?” Nick finishes for him, straightening his jacket. Monroe had practically lifted him off his feet with apparently zero effort.

“—Good.” Monroe says, correcting him, “Come on.”

Monroe hands him a beer and they settle on the couch.

“I smelled good to you?” The idea sends a slight thrill through him, making his face burn. He quickly downs half his bottle, hoping that Monroe isn’t as observant as he thinks he is.

“Hell yeah. Dude. You smelled like my childhood. Homemade meals and all that. It was like a flashback from the past.” Monroe smacks his lips. Nick tries to figure out if he should feel disgusted or flattered. Probably neither.

“That’s genuinely disturbing.” He says. Monroe rolls his eyes.

“I’m a Blutbad. I have a long heritage of being disturbing to Grimms.” He pauses, “Although, I guess you are like, the Disney version of the Boogie Man.”

“Hey, I’m plenty badass.”

“You keep telling yourself that. You’ll be known as the Care Bear Grimm. All fluffy. You even have the doe eyed look.” Monroe is smirking.

“You do realize, you’ll be remembered as my trusty side-kick, right?”

“I’m your partner. No way is a Blutbad a sidekick.”

NIck grins. “By the way, how’s my watch coming?”

Monroe’s eyes light up and he explains in detail the intricacies of such a fine piece.

 

-

 

It’s easy to get lost in conversation with Monroe. He’s enthusiastic and passionate about so many things Nick can’t help but get excited about the history of the oscillating watch. He finds himself sinking into the sofa cushions, relaxing with the steady sound of Monroe’s voice. He’s more than tempted to rest his head for a few minutes, the lack of sleep all too suddenly catching up to him.

He looks to Monroe and finds himself getting hard.

His lips are wrapped around the bottle and Nick is momentarily distracted by this image. He looks away and eyes the coo coo clock on the wall, ticking away.

There aren’t many awkward silences between them, not since the very beginning. But now this one is heavy and Nick is very aware of where his mind had gone. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with his brain.

“So.” Monroe starts.

He goes to what’s comfortable, and it should be strange that dead bodies and homicides are the safe zone for Nick.

“Can you find the pack?”

Monroe looks away. It’s a move Nick isn’t familiar with.

“You can, can’t you? You can probably smell them a mile away.”

“I can, but it’s near impossible to fight a pack when it’s together. And a pack is _always_ together.”

“So, we infiltrate them. Split them up.”

Monroe shakes his head.

“That means getting close. And unless you’re a Blutbad, you aren’t getting any where near them without getting you’re throat ripped out.”

Nick downs the rest of his beer. The situation doesn’t look good.

“I can’t ask you to go by yourself Monroe. It’s too dangerous.”

Monroe looks up. His eyes grow red. He’s trying to contain his Blutbad form. Nick sits up a little straighter. He’s not scared, but he knows something is going to happen.

Monroe shakes himself and he’s back to his normal nerdy watch-maker self. He scratches the back of his neck and looks to the side of Nick, somehwere over his shoulder and definitely not in the eye.

“I’m not saying I’ll do it, but there is a way for them to think you’re a Blutbad, but I doubt you’re going to like it.”

 

-

 

Nick had been a strange kid.

He had blamed this innate oddness on living with his bohemian aunt, on his parents being killed. He knew it was none of those things, though. There was always something different about him. He could never relate to the other kids as well as he should have.

It isn’t until now that he thinks this might have been because of his Grimm heritage, whatever that really meant. Then, he had thought it had to do with how he felt about a certain gender. How, when he hit puberty, he would look at both boys and girls and get a burning and hot feeling inside of him. It had been easy to date girls. They liked his smile and he was handsome enough to attract dates.

With boys, it was a different story. He had rules. He could never admit it. He could only look. And only sometimes could he think about guys while he was jerking off in the shower, but he had to think about a girl when he came. Those were the rules and if he didn’t follow the rules, well, he’d feel like a freak.

It was stupid, really. But for some reason, knowing that that line of thinking had been beyond dumb, he hadn’t grown out of it. He had needed those rules to feel normal because his instincts had always told him he was far from normal. With Juliette he had felt what he thought was normal.

The idea of being marked by Monroe is beyond hot. Monroe had explained, his eyes flashing red and his face like a burnt beet, Nick knew his own wasn’t much different, that to get close enough to the Blutbaden he’d need to smell like Monroe. It would mask who he really was for a short time. Enough time to separate them.

It was an awkward way to end the evening.

It’s passed midnight when he pulls up to his house. The lights are on. The thought of going inside just yet is unbearable, the guilt too much. He unzips his pants and takes himself in his hand, he’s been hard since leaving Monroe’s, his thumb running alongside his slit. It’s fast and rough. He spits into his hand and pictures Monroe cumming on his face, his dick wet and red on Nick’s lips, marking him.

Nick breaks his rule as he spills over his fist and onto the steering wheel.

 

-

 

The one time Nick hopes Juliette sleeps on the sofa, is the one time she doesn’t. He doesn’t avoid her eyes. He acts normal. He knows, though, that she knows there is something different.

“When do you think my watch will be fixed?” She asks when he’s finally in bed and under the covers. His arm is wrapped around her waist. He kisses her shoulder. He thinks about whether or not doing what Monroe suggested would be a good idea. He and Hank have no leads and Monroe is the only one he knows who can track them down.

And he can’t let Monroe go on his own to face a pack of Blutbaden.

“He said in a few days.”

Juliette hums. She doesn’t ask because she doesn’t want Nick to ask. He wonders when he became all right with the lies between them.

Juliette will hate him, but he can’t let anyone else die. He wants to laugh because this is what a superhero in a comic would say. Doing what’s right despite being hated for it. It’s all some messed up joke.

 

-

 

Monroe had once told Nick that after eating a Blutbad would be okay for a week to ten days before wanting another meal. Nick had been counting on this to solve the case before the break would be over.

He get’s the call at six in the morning.

The house is a block from his own. A family of five. A neighbor says he saw a group enter the house the night before.

Hank is outside, his demeanor rigid and angry. The smell is worse than the little blue bungalow.

“This is just fucked up. This is more than fucked up. The goddamn devil was here and we got no damn leads to catch him.”

 

-

 

Juliette leaves him a voice mail, saying she’s going to her mother’s for a few days. He doesn't know why she's leaving, she hasn't spoken to her mother in months. He doesn't call her to ask. Nick turns his cell phone off after that, paranoid that she might call in the next few hours while he’s with Monroe. Smelling like Monroe and he can’t do what he’s about to do if he thinks Juliette might walk in on him.

Monroe is a nervous wreck. He’s sweating and his face is bright red. It’s cute, really. Sweet even. He wishes, suddenly, that this wasn’t for a case.

“Where do you want me?” Nick asks. Where Monroe is nervous, Nick is massively turned on. The guilt is on the back burner and all he can think about is what they are about to do and what Monroe is about to do. His dick is hard in his jeans and he knows Monroe can see him. It’s obvious but the Blutbad is playing it off. Nick pictures himself on his knees, watching Monroe jerk himself off. There are so many fantasies he keeps to himself that are suddenly at the forefront, bombarding him with images of what they could do.

Monroe laughs, wipes his eyes with his hand. They’ve stayed red since Nick walked in, telling him about the other victims and asking Monroe to mark him.

“This is—“ Monroe stops, taking a shaking breath.

“Please, Monroe. Really, I—“ _I want it_ , Nick thinks, “—It’s more than fine.”

Taking a chance, Nick places a hand on Monroe’s hip, slipping his fingers under the waistband, pulling the Blutbad forward. Kissing a man isn’t so different than kissing a woman, except for the beard. The beard is, well, wonderful. Nick presses harder, urging Monroe to kiss him back and when he finally does it’s Heaven.

 

-

 

Nick’s jeans are around his ankles and his hands are on the wall, his hands sweaty and his fingers grasping for something--anything. It’s a pose that’s reminiscent of frisking suspects, except he’s got a hand on his dick that isn’t his own. The parts of him that aren’t covered by Monroe, are chilled by the air. Monroe’s cock is grinding his ass and Nick is pushing back against him, the feeling of a hard cock that isn’t his is better than he had ever thought it would be.

Monroe’s hand is big and covers most of Nick’s dick, his other hand cupping his balls, rolling them in his palms. It’s too good and he knows he won’t last much longer. He watches his dick disappear in Monroe’s fist, precum a constant stream, dripping onto the floor. Nick had always had a problem with leaking so much, Juliette had complained about the sheets every time because he would get so wet. He’d have to wear a condom as soon as he got hard or else the risk of pregnancy would be too high.

NIck finds it hard not to think of Juliette right now. He concetrates on the very male hands that are rough and calloused.

Monroe’s head is resting on Nick’s shoulder, watching him.

“Do you normally leak this much?” Nick nods, not trusting his voice, his cheek rubbing against Monroe’s beard. It does feel as good as he had imagined.

“That’s so hot.” Monroe sounds reverent and his hips start to go faster and harder, he's rubbing against his opening and Nick can’t hold on anymore. He cums with a loud and long groan, painting the kitchen wall in thick strips of white. Monroe follows after him, teeth grazing his shoulder.

Nick feels wetness between his cheeks, he groans at the thought of walking outside with Monroe practically inside him. He flexes his ass around Monroe’s softening dick and grins when Monroe jerks but doesn’t move away.Nick smells the air. Sex and cum. 

“That was…” Monroe trails off.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, that was just—“

“—Really, really amazing.”

“Totally.” And Nick can hear Monroe’s nervous grin.

It was time to catch some homicidal Blutbaden, or in other words, some Blutbaden.

 

 


End file.
